


Dedication

by fawatson



Series: Christmas at the Clubhouse [20]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: Gen, ITOWverse, Lenaia, Metafiction, New Year's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:43:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Alexander slips backstage to look at the actors getting ready for the play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dedication

**Author's Note:**

> This story was posted originally to the [maryrenaultfics](http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com) LiveJournal community as a gift to the members for Christmas in 2009.

He knew he wasn’t really supposed to be back here.  He was _supposed_ to be out front, with his father and mother, and most especially, Grandmother, who’d said she’d take charge of him for the day, and teach him what was what.  She’d looked quite stern when she said it; it hadn’t sounded fun at _all_.  So he’d slipped away, drawn to the excitement behind the scenes.  Alexander climbed inside the front half of a horse and sat quietly, looking out through the eyes, absorbing events. 

There was Hermippos in his costume; he was sitting before a mask, looking intent.  Father had tried to explain the play to him last night – how Dikaiopolis made peace with the Spartans.  “But isn’t it more honourable to go to war?” he had asked.  “Surely you’re not supposed to make secret treaties with the enemy.”  But Father had said it was a comedy, and not meant to be real, so that was all right. 

A regal woman in golden robes swept past him, paused, and turned.  Her eyes blazed; her gaze searched.  Alexander shrank back inside his disguise.  She looked quite – menacing. 

“There!” Ariadne pointed at a tall statue of the god tucked away in one corner.  “And give it a good dusting first – _and_ a fresh laurel wreath.”  Acolytes scurried to set the heavy Dionysos on the litter; it would be carried in front of the ceremonial procession that started the festival.  Behind crouched a small boy, his hiding place revealed as the god was moved.  He looked up at the priestess and her retinue, startled, like a fox cub caught by hounds.  Ariadne made a low growling sound and pounced on Hippolytos, pulling him forward. 

“You!” she exclaimed.  “What are _you_ doing here?  Don’t you _realise_ you are dedicated to another god?  Do you mean to bring disaster on us all?” 

In ignominy the younger boy was escorted back to his nurse, as, trumpets blaring and cymbals crashing, the procession formed in order and marched smartly out into the amphitheatre.  Shivering, Alexander crept unnoticed from his hiding place.  Maybe Grandmother wasn’t so frightening after all.


End file.
